


Bringing Home Strays

by grogu-pascal (venusx)



Series: Paz Vizsla Drabbles [2]
Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, The Mandalorian (TV)
Genre: Bratty Reader, Crochety Paz Vizsla, Dom/sub Undertones, Domestic Fluff, F/M, Fluff, I call a Beloved Star Wars Character Ugly Bcos He Is, Implied Age Gap, Not Beta'd, Sexual Tension, Size Difference, Soft Paz Vizsla, Suggestive Themes
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-09
Updated: 2020-12-09
Packaged: 2021-03-10 08:35:34
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,569
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27967670
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/venusx/pseuds/grogu-pascal
Summary: Somehow, during the two weeks Paz had been off scouring Planet Alderaan for a bounty, you had not only acquired a pet, but also named the little beast.══════════════════Soft Paz is soft.
Relationships: Paz Vizsla/Reader
Series: Paz Vizsla Drabbles [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2123328
Comments: 6
Kudos: 51





	Bringing Home Strays

Somehow,during the two weeks Paz had been off scouring Planet Alderaan for a bounty, you had not only "acquired” a pet but also _named_ the little beast.

* * *

“What do you mean _acquired_?" the mandalorian asks, pacing back and forth between the confines of his quarters. 

“Y’know. Adopted,” you murmur. Embarrassment blushes at your cheeks at the admission. You distract yourself with the small loth-kitten nestled into your arms tangling it's wiry fur between your fingers as Paz's lecture drones on. This isn't exactly how you imagined your reunion with him would go—but perhaps it could be worse.

Paz’s suite is admittedly a mess. A mix of his and your garments are strewn across the room wildly. The floor is decorated with bowls half-filled with mysterious liquids and cups half-full of mysterious foods. Tufts of white-orange fur litter the couch (which smells of wet cat) and to make matters worse, Paz has just stepped in what looks like regurgitated _gihaal_.

You slouch down into your chair at the sight of the loth-kitten's dinner mushed against his boots. _Scratch that_ —you think to yourself— _maybe this_ is _worse_.

"And this?"—Paz holds up his datapad, soaked and dripping in some strange gel—"do you even know what fluid this is?" You look up at him through your lashes and gnaw at your lip. You _do_ know what fluid it is, but telling him would only worsen his mood. 

Taming the loth-lkitten had made for an interesting two weeks. There were moments where you doubted whether domestication was even possible. But, as it turned out, the species could be incredibly docile.

Sure, the kitten had attempted to rip your finger from the joint when you scritched its little beard the day after you brought it home and **yes** , it had succeeded in slicing a scar down the length of your forearm, but it was nothing some bacta-gel couldn't fix. Besides, you had reasoned, the poor thing was probably petrified. The kitten could only have been a few weeks old, and you may very well have been its first time ever seeing anything remotely humanoid.

After the first few days of scratching and biting and clawing, you decided on baptism by fire. You took to picking the kitten up at all times of the day, equipped with a spare pair of Paz's extra gloves. They were far too big for you and flopped around at the fingertips as you pet the beast, but it was no matter at all. The kitten was hand-fed each meals and adored with baby-talk. If you needed to step out you turned on the holoprojector so that the loth-kitten could familiarize itself with human speech.

All of your hard work had proved successful in the end—the kitten, which was once standoffish and quite rude, had now become sweet and gentle, snuggling into you at bedtime and licking kitten-kisses onto your nose at wake. It was a fast learning little thing, potty training far quicker than an _adiik_. (Except for the incident with Paz's datapad). 

For all of the troubles you had endured with the kitten's domestication you had named it Naast. _Destroyer_. You weren't exactly sure of it's gender and thought it rude to simply lift up it's long, silky tail and _check_ , but it mattered none at all. Your excitement at having something to keep you company when Paz was gone for weeks trumped a thing as trivial as sex. You'd like to think you would have loved the creature all the same if it had been an womp rat.

"Paz," you start as his lecture reaches a lull, "the kitten had no—"

Paz nearly immediately lifts his hand in the air. He tilts his head away from you and stills. _Silence,_ he seems to say. "You need to take it back," he remarks softly. You look up at him, burly arms folded over his blue-painted beskar chestplate and he returns your gaze, shifting his weight to one foot expectantly. To anyone else, the sight of the Paz in such a posture would spur fear, but this was _your_ Paz and you knew he wouldn't hurt you (or your feelings) if there was a blaster to his head.

You rise from your chair and make your way over to where he stands, indignant and hulking. Naast immediately flees from your arms, jumping onto the couch and digging into the cushions with its fat claws before lying down. You continue walking, pretending not to see it. You aren't sure if Paz does. Naast is not exactly helping you make your case here. 

"Paz," you whine as you reach him, fingers trailing up his torso to rest on his shoulders. Your eyes meet his visor with a pleading gaze. He stands unmoving.

You're toeing a line here, playing at tears and feigned hurt to get your way. It's wrong. You can be much worse. Even if Paz can see right through you right now, you know that he still won't be able to resist. Not after two weeks apart. Not with the way you're pushing your tits against the metal of his armor. Not with the way your nipples have roused to a pebble under your tunic. You watch as his helmet tilts downward towards you and catch your lip to stop a grin. _It's working._

Paz stands at least a foot above you and with you pressed so tightly to his frame, you know that he's getting an eyeful of your cleavage. You extend the moment past means, shifting in faux-anxiety. Your eyes never leave his visor despite knowing his attention is elsewhere.

You tug on his shoulder to redirect his gaze from your tits to your eyes, big and wet. Before you can continue begging, he brings his hand to rest under your chin. Warmth spreads through your core as he runs his gloved thumb back and forth across your jaw, palm resting against your throat.

"Hmmph,” he remarks, testing your resistance against his fingers. “I see in our time apart”—he ghosts his thumb against your lips—“you’ve forgotten how I feel about whining." His voice is strained behind his helmet, tone dark and provocative. At this, your eyes shift from his visor to the bulge where his codpiece should be, and you can _see_ where this is going.

You don't respond, instead you parting your lips to take his thumb into your mouth. A grunt escapes his vocoder as you work it further in your mouth, cheeks hollowing around it impolitely. "You need to take it back to its family," he grumbles. His other hand has worked its way to the back of your head, and now plays in the root of your hair. He's the same way when you suck his cock. Pulling and tugging at your hair. Molding you into his desires.

"Naast didn't _have_ a family Paz," you reply, briefly pulling his tongue from your mouth. A trail of spit links from the digit to your mouth and you lick at his thumb to interrupt it. 

His posture softens under you, hand gaining slack against your jaw. You take his finger back into your mouth. Your voice slurs as saliva pools on your tongue, " _'ss what I was tryna tell you,_ " you manage, tongue working against the weight of his thumb. " _Lil thing was all by 'mselff._ "

You take his hand from your face and hold it in your tiny one, pressing gentle kisses into his palm. The sound of his breathing is stuttered now, and his garments are tight against his crotch. 

"I've gotta say Vizsla. I’ve never known you to turn away a stray,” you murmur between kisses.

Despite your bare-faced manipulation, this much was true. Paz was a grumpy ole' fucker, a trait you found amusing, but he was also darling. This was the man who stood in as a youngling instructor for three weeks when their teacher fell ill. This was the man who fended off a fleet of guild members just to save Din's little green bastard. (Who, for the record, was a whole lot uglier than your precious loth-kitten). This was the the man who took you in a year prior when you showed up at his starship in the dead of night, soaking wet and shivering, without a credit to your name.

Paz Vizsla was no stranger to collecting strays. 

"Fine," he huffs tightly, pulling his hand out of yours and walking towards the bed. You note the tension in his shoulders and giggle. You abandon the act as soon as he gives in, so you hardly care that he hears you. Besides, he fucks better when he's all worked up.

Paz begins to strip his armor off piece-by-piece as you bite back the grin forming against your lips. He lies down on his back, beckoning towards you with his fingers. You obey, nearly skipping with joy.

"I knew you'd let me keep him!" You grin as you pull your tunic up to shuffle onto his lap, "Naast is a good kitty, you'll see."

"It's not Naast I'm worried about," he muses halfway to himself as he bunches the fabric over your hips. " _Dank farrik_ ," he mutters at the realization that you aren't wearing any undergarments. He runs a thumb over your erect nipple, earning a sigh from you. "Now, pretty girl, show me how good of a kitty you can be."


End file.
